Page 127 of The Right Kind of Wrong

What’s there to do in this town on a Saturday night?

Monroe had just gotten Maisie to sleep, and she was pacing around her living room. And maybe she wasn’t going to ask Blake out on a date in those words explicitly, but they hadn’t gone out together yet without being under the watchful eye of a five-year-old chaperone.

She appreciated that the text came back almost immediately.

Blake Bettencourt - 8:22 p.m.

You mean like tomorrow?

Monroe Lockhart - 8:22 p.m.

Yeah. What do the movers and shakers of Cypress Falls do?

Blake Bettencourt - 8:22 p.m.

Are you drunk?

Monroe Lockhart - 8:23 p.m.

Nope. Just seeing if you wanna do something tomorrow. Denny has offered to babysit so that I can get out of the house for the night, sans my lovable shadow.

She watched as dots appeared, disappeared, and then appeared again.

Which didn’t make her feel great, but Monroe was still resolute. She was seeing this thing through.

Finally, Blake’s response came in.

Blake Bettencourt - 8:24 p.m.

Slider’s does something at night the first Saturday of every month. We could check that out?

Monroe wasn’t embarrassed by how quickly she responded—mostly.

Monroe Lockhart - 8:24 p.m.

That sounds great.

For a second, Monroe thought about asking Blake what she was doing, but she stopped herself.

Blake Bettencourt - 8:24 p.m.

Okay!

Monroe appreciated the enthusiasm, even though it didn’t fully quell her racing nerves. She threw herself down on the sofa so that she’d stop pacing.

When had she become this person?

The type of woman who cradled her phone, waiting for a response from the woman she was sleeping with?

The honest answer? Whenever Blake had crawled so deep under her skin that it felt like she was moving without thinking, unable to stop herself where Blake was concerned.

It was thrilling and terrifying and so, so fucking overwhelming.

Again, she felt the floating feeling like she’d experienced at the arcade. Nothing seemed quite real.

She didn’t know that she’d ever pined over someone, but that was absolutely the word that sprang to mind.

She had to start living with that truth instead of fighting it because anything else was an exercise in futility.